


Warmth

by paulmcfartney



Series: McLennon Drabbles [8]
Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, John Is Gay For Elvis, M/M, McLennon, Midnight, Slow Dancing, The Beatles - Freeform, i especially like this one, it's so soft, teddy boys, this is a sweet lil fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 19:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcfartney/pseuds/paulmcfartney
Summary: req: "one of them sneaking out in the middle of the night to see the other and the two dancing in one of their bedrooms with a record playing softly while they quietly sing into each other's ear"





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> the song referenced here is 'as long as i have you' off of elvis' king creole album :) enjoy!

Paul stands on the front lawn of Mendips and marvels up at the dark house. A faint light is turned behind the glass of the top right window–John’s bedroom. It’s latched open, and Paul can hear his heart pounding in his ears in anticipation. He can’t help but smile at the shadow he spots briefly pass by the glass.

“John!” he whispers as loudly as he can at this hour. Thank _God_ Mimi’s room is on the opposite side of the house, because the woman has ears like a dog and could hear anything from a mile away. But it’s one a.m., and Paul honestly couldn’t fucking care any less about anything except for John than he does right now, and his heart just about jumps out of his chest when the confused boy in question appears at his window.

John smiles back down at him in realization, glasses slipping down his angular nose and wet hair sticking out in all different directions. _‘He must be straight out of the shower,’_ Paul thinks, and he feels his heart flutter at the thought of being able to finally run his hands across the boy’s warm skin. 

“I’ll meet you ‘round back, yeah?” John hisses from above, leaving Paul to nod and begin to make his way around the side of the house. 

John meets him at the back door and holds his finger to his lips to keep Paul quiet, and _Holy Shit Wow **John’s Not Wearing A Shirt.**_ It’s truly a task to describe how incredibly _beautiful_ John looks right now, and Paul can’t believe how utterly taken aback he is by this– _whatever **this** is. _

Though it’s nearly pitch black all around him, Paul can still make out the devious glint in John’s eye, like a naughty child that’s conniving an evil scheme. Paul doesn’t know what to make of it, but he feels excited, high on the adrenaline that being around John makes him feel.

And when John takes his hand to guide him through the darkness of the house, Paul feels like he’s floating through an altered reality where oxygen doesn’t exist and John’s the only thing that’s grounding him right now. He can’t help but lock his eyes on John’s back as they strategically plan their steps up the staircase in the places where the wood creaks the least. 

John presses the door shut behind them, and Paul can finally get a good look at him with the warmth of his bedside lamp radiating off of the cream colored walls. 

He’s _definitely_ just gotten out of the shower, and his hair’s stuck in that weird stage where it’s only half dry, making it stick out everywhere. John has his glasses on, but he’s still squinting to see in the dim light. He shoots Paul that tiny, embarrassed smile when he realizes that he’s still without a shirt, and when he reaches to find one in his drawers, Paul catches him by the arm to let him know that it’s alright. John’s skin is still warm and soft from the water, and Paul would give anything in the world to just wrap John around himself like a woolen blanket. 

“It’s one in the bloody morning, you prick, so this ought to be good,” John whispers playfully, and his infamous grin returns to creep across his lips.

Paul’s memory sort of fades out for a moment, but then he suddenly remembers exactly why he’s here at such an ungodly hour. The leather satchel on his shoulder hangs limp at his side except for one thing inside. Paul tugs it off, and with a quick look of reassurance to an again confused John, pulls out a thin package wrapped in plain brown paper, adorned with a hilariously pitiful taping job done by the man working the front desk at the time Paul bought it. 

Paul hands it over to John, his chest feeling like it’s going to explode from the strange mix of pure love and anxiety. “Happy birthday, John,” he utters as John inspects the gift. 

The smile that Paul receives in return probably has enough power to cause peace worldwide and end world hunger or something of the sort, because John looks so absolutely elated that Paul even _remembered_ his birthday _at all._ Before even opening the gift, John leans into Paul and wraps two strong arms around his neck and holds him there for a moment. Paul’s poor heart is actually weeping in his chest, and his hands skirt apprehensively along the bare skin on the sides of John’s  torso to eventually come to rest on his waist. 

John’s semi-wet hair tickles Paul’s jawline, and his breath skims along the skin where his face is buried into his collar. Paul feels the boy nuzzle even further into his neck, and he thinks that he actually feels a bit dizzy from the utter sweetness of John’s response. 

“Thank you, so so much, Paulie,” John almost whimpers into Paul’s neck, and Paul thinks he feels a teardrop or two land on his skin. He wouldn’t blame John, of course. The past few months haven’t been exactly one for the books. Recovering after Julia’s death was going to be a rocky path for John; Paul wasn’t quite sure how long it would take for him to come to terms with his _own_ mother’s death. They were made to support each other, and Paul would make sure that he’d be there for John every step of the way.

Trying to keep him positive, Paul gives John one last squeeze around the waist and places his lips on the boy’s cheek, letting them linger for a moment. “C’mon love, let’s open it up,” Paul whispers. John lifts his head off of Paul’s shoulder, the tiny, glistening streaks running down his cheeks confirming Paul’s earlier thought. Paul runs his hand through John’s hair reassuringly, and he sniffles a bit before wiping his cheeks and cleaning off the smudges on his glasses.

John nods, and a faint smile returns to his lips when he jokingly shakes the package to try to see what’s in it. “Hmm, I wonder what it could be,” John teases before noticing the horrendous wrapping job. “I’m assuming that this isn’t your work then.” John’s eyes are playful when he glances at Paul, making the boy giggle at his reaction.

“The man at the shop was right shit at wrapping gifts. He offered to do it for free, so I figured why not, y’know,” Paul snickers. “That was the first of several mistakes.” He can’t help but laugh at John’s amusement from the whole ordeal. He’s never letting fucking Neil wrap anything _ever again._

John tears the brown paper from the corner and starts to reveal the soundtrack from Elvis’ most recent movie, _King Creole._ They had seen it together back in August, and John had been keeping his ears open for that _certain_ _song_ ever since. When John first realized what his birthday gift was, the most heartwarming smile spread across his face, and he sniffles again when he makes eye contact with Paul, who’s watching intently for his reaction. Paul’s fallen hopelessly in love with the way that John’s eyes light up when he’s happy, and how his crooked smile makes him feel like he’s floating with the stars up above. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d nicked it from the record shop yet, so if you already have it, you can just retu– _Mm_.” Paul’s sentence was cut short when John suddenly lunges forward to connect their lips in a sweet kiss. It was painfully brief, but John _still_ managed to make Paul’s mind swirl a million different colors in about a billion different directions. 

“You’re lucky, McCartney,” John rasps playfully against Paul’s mouth. He can feel the older boy smile into his lips when they embrace once more, meanwhile, Paul’s floating on _Cloud Fucking Nine_ as John tilts his head to the left to deepen the kiss. Paul can feel the now faint tracks of wet against his cheek from earlier, and only leans into John even more, his heart finally giving way. 

John sighs into Paul’s lips before pulling away, and Paul places one final kiss against the older boy’s forehead. His eyes are closed, and Paul marvels at the tiny, spiked shadows cast against John’s skin from his eyelashes. And when he opens his eyes, Paul feels his heart squeeze in absolute adoration for the heart-wrenchingly gorgeous boy he’s holding in his arms.

“You wanna listen?” John says, pulling away from Paul and picking up the record from where he’d set it on his quilt. Paul nods, and watches as John pulls the vinyl disc from its sleeve and sets it up on his turntable on his cluttered desk. There’s the soft crackling to start off every record, and the first guitar riff from _King Creole_ fills the small room. 

John turns back to Paul and takes both of his hands and swings them back and forth to the beat until Paul gets into it. They dance together to the fast-paced music, and Paul sings along with Elvis, making John grin and laugh like he’s having the time of his life. John swings his hips, imitating The King, and Paul doesn’t want to admit to himself that watching him move like that makes hot chills spread from his spine outward. 

The last chord of the song rings out for a moment before the crackling comes again, and then the sound of soft, arpeggiating piano chords signals the beginning of the next song. It takes Paul a moment to realize, but John automatically picks up on the fact that this is his song. 

John inches closer towards him, and Paul places his hands on the older boy’s warm, pale chest just to _feel_ him right there in front of him. They lock eyes as Elvis sings the first few words – _Let the stars fade and fall_ – and John brings his hand up to intertwine with Paul’s to the side of their waists. Paul slips his free hand around to John’s back, while John’s creeps around to his shoulder blade and stays there. After a moment, he lets his cheek come to rest Paul’s collarbone as they sway together side to side in the middle of the quaint room. 

Paul closes his eyes for a minute to take everything in. He smiles to himself, because he knows that he’s _so goddamn lucky_ that he is John’s and John is his. Paul turns his head and connects his lips to the soft skin right below the temple of his frames. _Let’s think of the future, forget the past_ – Paul croons along gently with the track into John’s ear, and thinks back to whenever they’d first heard the song in the theater. 

Paul glanced over at John to his right, whose eyes were glued intently to Elvis performing on the screen in front of them. He returns his gaze to the film, and before he knows it, John’s head is suddenly resting on his shoulder, and their fingers are tangling smoothly together on top of his thigh, and from that point on, _It Was All Over._

John nuzzles even further into his collar, and Paul can feel him exhale against the exposed skin on his arm. _You’re not my first love, but you’re my last._ Paul moves his thumb in little circles on the bare skin of John’s back, and kisses his earlobe, feeling even more joyful and deeper in love than he ever has before. 

Paul continues to quietly whisper the lyrics into John’s ear. Everything feels right and whole in the world as long as they’re together. And Paul wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the whole universe but tangled up in the warm arms of his lover, best friend, and soulmate.

_As long as I have you._


End file.
